


We'll Meet Again

by momothesweet



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Drabble Collection, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Mafia AU, Non-Graphic Violence, Prompt Fill, some sort of bad person au lmao, sort of, these tags are a mess and i'm sorry, they love each other I promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-30 18:33:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11469282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/momothesweet/pseuds/momothesweet
Summary: Hinata and Ushijima met years ago. Their paths cross again in the unlikeliest of ways.Really short drabble collection originally posted forushihinaprompts!





	1. Sharp

**Author's Note:**

> YOOOO WHAT'S UP EVERYONE  
> I did these little ficlets a few months ago originally for Elena/ushihinaprompts (link in summary), and I _finally_ decided to post them on AO3 in case some of you don't follow me on Tumblr.
> 
> I'd like to thank her for the inspiration and giving me those little bits of energy to write during a time when I was bogged down and stressed about everything I had to deal with at the time :D
> 
> Title based on [that one song, you know the one](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cHcunREYzNY)

He comes at him like lightning.

The blade goes down, up, diagonally, and repeats in sporadic patterns that Ushijima nearly loses his footwork when he dodges each attack. Though he’s got his gun in his hand, he can barely get it raised to point it right in his forehead, beneath those bright orange locks splattered with blood from those he attacked minutes before getting to him.

Their business is a filthy one. Gunshots and screams and so much sleaze it almost makes Ushijima sick to his stomach when he tries to sleep at night. He didn’t have much say in the matter, though. This life was burned into his blood. 

On the other hand, Hinata was thrown into it. A kid from the streets with much more skill than anyone could imagine--who wouldn’t want him on their side?

Not Ushijima’s family.

Hinata manages to graze Ushijima’s cheek, a couple of key centimeters that catches him off-guard for the first time since the ambush, which isn’t very long to begin with. In that split second, though, like Hinata is silently celebrating that he finally hit him, Ushijima makes a left hook with his gun to clock the other in the face.

It sends him to the floor, crashing into the end table that breaks into pieces onto the floor. Ushijima finally gets his gun up and points it at Hinata, waiting for him to find his footing and stand back up. He isn’t about to shoot him while he’s down. It’s a sort of respect that he’s learned growing up with his family. Arguing with that respect won’t get him anywhere.

Amazingly, Hinata rises with little struggle, the glass scratching the floor when he kicks the bigger shard aside. He drops his knife and raises his arms, the gun following him with each step to the left and to the right.

Hinata smiles.

Ushijima doesn’t trust it. Keeping his arms upright and the gun inches from his forehead, he tells him firmly, “Your decision to surrender is a sound one.”

There’s hesitation that seems to quiver Hinata’s bottom lip. No matter what Hinata says, it’s not going to make Ushijima let his guard down. At all.

Or so he thinks.

“Do you really not remember me?” he asks.

Ushijima says nothing.

“Three years ago,” Hinata continues, “behind Sakanoshita. I was stealing food and one of your hawks were trying to gun me down. You let me go.”

Ushijima remembers that day faintly. It was an ordinary drive around town, making sure nothing suspicious was going on around their part of the city. It wasn’t until Tendou shouted his name and jumped out of the car to spot a small thief stumbling out the back of a store. Most of what Ushijima remembers is the giant inconvenience it generated, but he did nonetheless remember no bloodshed and no gunshots. Because for once in his life, for once throughout his career and to everyone’s surprise, he let someone go.

“You do remember. It’s written all over your face!”

The more Ushijima thinks about it, the more he feels like his grip on his gun starts to tremble. Why did he not shoot him those three years ago? He was an easy target, down a straight path to the street. And nothing.

Ushijima steps forward and taps the barrel of his gun to Hinata’s forehead. “You’re going to take three steps back and walk towards the door on your right. There’s a car waiting for me.”

Hinata blinks, then puts his arms down. “Where are you taking me?”

He sighs gruffly and keeps his eyes on Hinata’s, piercing through the pupils like he’ll find the answer to why he’s going to do the unthinkable.

“We’re going to escape.”


	2. Burn After Reading

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Burn, letter

Hinata arrives at the hotel room, unharmed and unusually free from any danger. The flight and drive here were silent—too silent, in Hinata's opinion, but that's how Ushijima usually operates. The less mess and the less fuss, the better.

But sometimes, he likes a little fuss. 

Case in point—nobody is in this hotel room right now. Hinata looks around, checks the living room and bathroom and tiny little kitchen. Not a peep. Or a hidden camera or wires.

There is, however, an envelope sitting on the edge of the neatly-made bed. Hinata locks the door and examines it, making sure there isn’t something totally suspicious on its surface. Nothing is marked on the front or back.

Upon opening it up, Hinata finds a handwritten letter, clearly from Ushijima, based on the crooked scrawl from a possible time crunch. He reads it slowly, taking in every word, one by one:

 

_Dear Shouyou,_

_Forgive be for not being able to be with you at the present. The Americans have breached the contract and I will need to be in a different place for the time being. If you’re reading this letter on the same day indicated in the top right-hand corner, I can assure your safety with all of my heart._

_I cannot tell you how long I’m going to be gone. Do not look for me. Do not ask anybody about me. But know this: I_ will _be there with you in due time, alive and well._

_You must burn this letter when you finish reading it. There can be no evidence of me keeping in contact with you. For the time being, go downstairs to the front desk and ask for Koushi. He will provide you with some resources as to what you can do while you wait for me._

_Again, forgive me. I will do my absolute best to be with you as soon as possible._

 

_Wakatoshi_

 

A postscript is written far below Ushijima’s name, one that Hinata can’t bear to bring it to ashes. Hinata isn’t one to disobey Ushijima’s requests, but perhaps it’s in return for Ushijima not arriving on time.

He tears that bottom part of the letter before pulling out his lighter and burning it, black bits of paper falling to the bathroom sink. Before he goes downstairs to meet said person from the letter, he tucks away that ripped little portion in his pocket, only to be pulled out and read whenever he misses Ushijima late at night when he tries to fall asleep alone.


	3. 8,000 Kilometers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Distance
> 
> Contains violence that (hopefully) isn't too graphic for the sensitive

Ushijima blinks his eyes once a rough hand yanks the bag off his head. He takes a deep breath and inhales sawdust, cigarette smoke, and a cologne that stinks of power-hungry garbage. The floor is rough on his knees, hard concrete that’ll probably hurt more if he were to be kicked to the ground. There isn’t much time to assess the rest of where he is when he’s almost immediately punched in the face. It’s a right hook that jolts him very much awake.

He doesn’t fall, though. Ushijima sits up tall on his knees, still looking as prominent as ever in spite of his wrists zip-tied behind his back and the dried up blood surrounding his cut lower lip. There will definitely be a bruise under his left eye at some point, but that doesn’t matter now.

“Give me the name, Wakatoshi, and his location,” the man tells him in broken Japanese. From what Ushijima can observe before being punched in the face again, the man looks exactly like what he’s seen in the surveillance photos sent to him and his family—bald, lines on his forehead, a snarl that curls his upper lip and a fat gold ring that decorates his right ring finger. Hurts like a bitch, too.

Ushijima says nothing, the only reaction being a spit of blood to the floor.

A kick to the gut leaves him heaving and coming closer to said floor, but not without lifting back up and looking the man in the eye, defiant and unrelenting.

“You’re going to regret looking at me like that.”

Punch after punch, a kick here and countless threats of shooting there, and nothing. No sound other than a cough or spit of blood leaves Ushijima’s lips. If it’s one thing he’s mastered growing up, it’s to never reveal precious information.

It’s only when the man holds up a photo that Ushijima suddenly starts to crack by a hair.

His breaths are labored, one eye almost completely closed, but he can see the face in the picture as clear as day. A wide smile, orange hair that’s soft to the touch, wearing a black, thrift-store hoodie (probably stolen) that’s a size too large. He’s a few years younger in the picture, maybe about a year before he met him again.

A year before he brought him into this mess.

“This little fucker,” the man starts, “is the whole reason why we’re here. You know what he did, right?”

For the first time tonight (or day, since he can’t tell what time it is in this warehouse), Ushijima quirks his busted lips up in a smile that elicits another knock to the head. It’s also the first time that he’s going to speak to the man.

“He did—” Ushijima coughs, “he did exactly what I told him to do.”

“He nearly destroyed my business, that’s what he did!” the man shouts, ripping the photo in half and throwing it to the floor. “He killed half my best men and stole everything from me! And you’re going to pay for it.”

“I know.”

“Don’t fucking sass me,” he hisses, pulling out his gun again and this time shoving it in Ushijima’s mouth, torn up from the punches and possibly a few teeth down. “Tell me, you piece of shit. I want his name and where he is, right now.”

Ushijima does nothing again, closing his eyes and taking another breath.

If his thinking is correct (it usually is), he is currently somewhere on the west coast of the United States, in a city currently handling a gang problem that’s getting more and more out of hand.

That’s about eight thousand kilometers from where Ushijima had sent Hinata.

Hinata Shouyou.

Somehow, some way, Ushijima’s going to get out of this warehouse and see him again. Whatever it takes.

No matter what.


	4. 365 Days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Seasons

Every day, Hinata drops an apple seed in a jar that sits on the kitchen windowsill.

It’s his way of counting the days it’s been since he last saw Ushijima.

Koushi is a gentleman. Upon meeting Hinata, he showed him around the town, quiet with many retired old folks still getting by with the work they do out in the fields and with their animals. Hinata met Koushi’s partner, Daichi, tanned and strong and guiding him to a massive plot of land towards the end of the little place.

Ushijima told him about this before, once in bed after a night of intense bloodshed and interrogation. His family, generations back before getting involved in more illegal business, were one of the leading producers of apples for the country. Their farming ventures expanded to cattle and chickens, but it’s been years since someone has officially taken over the business.

Hinata’s the first person who isn’t an Ushijima to have access to the orchard.

The first time he saw it, it was a warm summer afternoon. He had burned the letter save for that small piece and looked for Koushi. And there they were.

It took months to start up the farm again. Hinata enlisted the help of some of the younger residents in town, mostly grandchildren and great-grandchildren of the former workers of the orchard, who are still alive and well. Learning about how to manage the trees bearing the sweetest apples and how to raise cattle was nothing like he’d ever learned before; it was far from learning how to wield a knife or how to use a Beretta.

But with practice came improvement, like anything else in life. Hinata went from dropping apples on his head to helping pick them all before the sun rose up high in the sky. Befriending the workers and the elders around town, along with having dinner frequently with Koushi and Daichi, helped take his mind off Ushijima, for the most part.

Nights are the hardest. Sleeping alone is cold, no matter what season it is. Snow fell heavy in this town, and Hinata has considered on multiple occasions to simply go to Koushi and Daichi’s house for company. He could never do that, though. He couldn’t do it again—go out on the streets and scavenge for help. For something. He’s been done being desperate. He isn’t desperate anymore.

Just lonely.

Winter passes and the spring is mild, perfect for being out more with the cattle since the apples were already harvested in the fall. It’s not too hot out when Hinata guides herds of cows into trucks. He doesn’t like to think about where they go next.

It’s the same with the chickens. Some days, he chases them around for fun. Other days, he talks to the hens and tells him all about Ushijima, how he’d pick on every last one of them and figure out why they’re better at laying eggs than another. “You’re perfect!” he’d shout at one hen, who laid a massive egg perfect for a breakfast for one person.

But day by day, no matter what he did to pass the time, he always dropped a seed in that jar. Through the window, Hinata could see the orchard, the trees slowly growing its apples and taking its sweet time to bear the best fruit for Japan. If only Ushijima could see this. He wonders from time to time, where he is.

And one day, after a productive afternoon of being out by a lake with some of his workers and with his new friends around town, he comes home and finds a figure sitting in the living room, on the sofa chair, lying back comfortably.

It was like seeing a ghost.

Hinata drops his bag in the doorway, struggling to get his shoes off without taking his eyes off of the man in the chair. His breath is labored, skin growing cold, trembling like a leaf in the wind.

Ushijima gets up slowly from the chair, grabbing the cane that had been leaning on one arm and taking one step at a time to approach Hinata. His gait is slower, but still heavy, still commanding the attention of the entire room. It’s amplified by the little thump of the cane.

An angry scar runs down his left eye, a once-olive pupil now blank but still, somehow, soft when he gazes at Hinata. There’s another scar that runs half the length of his neck, like someone tried to behead him in the slowest, most painful way. Hinata can only imagine what else lies beneath his kimono, a relaxing choice, he supposes, for a summer day.

He tries to say something to Ushijima but all the words stall in his throat. What does he even say? It’s been so long. Too long.

“You didn’t burn the whole letter,” Ushijima says. “I thought I taught you better.”

His voice is rough, much rougher than when they had first met. Hinata isn’t sure if it’s an effect of the scar on his neck or an effect of not being around him for a long period of time. Quieter, too.

“You—” Hinata chokes, “you’ve been gone forever and that’s the first thing you tell me?!”

Hinata keeps that piece of the letter by his bedside, tucked beneath the lamp seated next to his knife and a clock. There hasn’t been any danger around here since his arrival, but Hinata has never really slept well throughout his life. Not from all the shit he’s been through.

Ushijima grunts, getting closer to Hinata until he’s toe to toe with him, looking down and doing his absolute best not to crumble under his stare. It’s difficult to stand up straight without feeling some sort of pain in his spine or leg.

Silence, sans Hinata’s sniffling, falls between them for a long time before Ushijima speaks again.

“Forgive me.”

Hinata sobs when he throws his arms around Ushijima, clutching the fabric of his kimono and letting himself remember what it was like to hold him. It doesn’t take long at all. Not when Ushijima does the same and clings to him like he had just been drowning for what felt like ages.

If Hinata were to count the apple seeds in that jar right now, there would be 365. One year’s worth of apple trees feels like a lot. Especially when he’s had plans all along to plant them with him.

But now that they’re together again, they have all the time in the world to watch them grow.

Hell, Hinata dares to say that they have forever.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments, kudos, feedback and Ushijima Wakatoshi are greatly appreciated. <3
> 
> [Tumblr ](http://shoujomomo.tumblr.com) | [ Twitter](http://twitter.com/iwaizumiii)


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